


i say it to the paint

by inlovewithnight



Series: Pretty [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: BDSM, Dubious Consent, Humiliation, M/M, ritualized submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 10:29:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3407309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To the victor goes the rookie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i say it to the paint

They don't play the Penguins until late December, so by then Aaron is pretty well settled into the routine. They're not a great team, and he's the only rookie, so every loss comes with Willie smacking him on the shoulder and saying, "Okay, kid, we'll see you in the morning." Then he walks through the gauntlet of the rest of the team hooting and hollering at him as he leaves the locker room and goes down the hall to wait for the other team's captain to come claim him.

What happens next is more variable. Some of the captains have him clean up their gear or their garage or something. Some of them want a backrub or other, like, personal stuff that isn't necessarily sexual. 

Most of them want sex, though. The losing team's rookie is theirs for a night to do whatever they want, and most of them want to get something good out of him. The Bruins, the Devils; they were hella rough. There are rules about not doing any damage that keeps the rookies from playing the next game, but still.

He's heard from the other rookies that Crosby mostly takes them out to dinner and, like, gives them career advice. Which is cool. Crosby seems cool... well, no, Crosby seems like a giant loser, but he's a _great hockey player_ and that's important. Aaron wouldn't mind a good steak and a long talk with Sid Crosby.

But Sid isn't the one waiting from him outside the Penguins' locker room. It's Malkin.

"Sid deferred to me," he explains, flipping the collar up on his jacket and nodding toward the exit. "Tired tonight. He need his rest, yeah?"

And that's in the rules, too, deferring to an alternate captain if you're not up to it, so Aaron doesn't really have any option except to follow along.

Malkin takes him out to his car and starts driving, humming to himself. Aaron stretches his legs out and looks out the window, watching nighttime Pittsburgh go by. It is nothing at all like Miami.

Malkin pulls up to the curb outside an Italian restaurant, and after a moment a waiter emerges with several bags and hands them in through the car window. "Got a little bit of everything," Malkin explains. "We eat at home." Aaron just nods, breathing in deep. Garlic, tomato, olive oil, there's some beef and sausage in there. He's ready to take on the whole thing.

Malkin's place is nice, of course; all the guys have really nice places, unless their families live somewhere else and then their families have nice places and they have apartments with mini-gyms. Aaron has Willie's guest suite, which is really nice but also not actually his. He isn't really _jealous_ of Malkin's stuff, but fuck, he's ready to have some stuff of his own. He's totally going to have a climbing wall in his living room, when he buys a house. It's going to be awesome.

Malkin gets forks and beers from the kitchen, but they just eat out of the take-out containers off their laps in the living room. Malkin wasn't kidding when he said a bit of everything, plus there's plenty of garlic bread and a whole box of cannoli for them to split. Being a superstar with a guaranteed contract means living like a king. When you're in a successful market, that is.

Aaron can't spend too much time thinking about all those factors he can't control or he ends up feeling really awful. Better to think about how many cannoli he's going to eat. And wonder what Malkin's going to want to do with him when they're done.

Malkin finishes his beer, gives a loud burp, and stares off into space for a moment before his eyes go to Aaron. "Good?" he asks.

"Very good." Aaron wipes his mouth and pushes the containers back across the coffee table. "Thanks."

"No problem. I hungry like crazy after a game. Figure you must be worse, just a kid."

Aaron bites back a sigh. This bullshit. "Not really a kid."

"Right," Malkin says, nodding. "Not a kid or you wouldn't be here."

That sounds like a cue. Aaron sits up a little straighter and rubs his hands on his thighs. "What do you want me to do?"

Malkin studies him again, his face carefully blank, harder to read than his game face. "Take off your clothes."

All right, that's standard. Aaron gets to his feet and undresses, stripping out of his suit and tie and tossing them into the armchair. He hesitates just a minute when he gets to his briefs, glancing at Malkin for confirmation. Malkin nods, gesturing a little with his empty beer bottle, and yeah, okay. Aaron strips those off too and drops them to the floor.

Malkin looks him up and down again and grins. "Pretty," he says. "Boys shouldn't be so pretty."

Aaron rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. C'mon, I showed you mine, you show me yours."

Malkin laughs and stands up, stripping out of his clothes with easy confidence. It's a nice view, nicer as each layer comes off. Aaron definitely has no complaints. He just hopes Malkin is gentle with that thing.

“Down,” Malkin says, and Aaron drops to his knees, getting settled as comfortably as he can given the post-game bruises. He’s not stiff, at least. Being the kid has its upside.

Malkin studies him for a moment, looking thoughtful. He’s standing there, looming in the space in front of the TV, naked and incongruous with the nice living-room set of couches and chairs. He’s holding his dick loosely in one hand, rubbing his thumb slowly over it, and Aaron can imagine how soft the skin is, the salty-warm taste of it, the heavy smell he’ll breathe in while Malkin’s dick is in his mouth.

Malkin steps closer to him, his eyes narrowing a little. His hand slides up to the base of his dick, squeezes lightly. Aaron’s eyes track the movement of his fingers, the slight tightening and pressure, and he misses the shift in weight that signals intent. Malkin’s dick slaps hot and thick against the side of his face, and he rocks with the impact like it was a real hit. Like a hit on the ice, practically, and fuck, that’s…

He ducks his head, trying to hide the heat flooding his face and avoid seeing if Malkin laughs at him. _Fuck_. That’s going to make him look like a dumb kid for sure.

Malkin’s fingers cup lightly under his chin, bringing his head back up. “Okay, pretty?” 

Aaron licks his lips and squares his shoulders, settling himself so he’ll be ready this time, he can take it this time. Because of course Malkin’s going to do it again, until he gets the response he wants and Aaron takes it properly.

After the third slap he revises that a little; this clearly works for Malkin on more levels than just humiliating Aaron. Malkin gets harder every time he hits him, his dick heavy and solid. It’s getting to Aaron a little, too, the weird extra intimacy of it; it’s like taking hits in a drill, but it’s Geno Malkin’s cock, in his face, and soon he’s going to be sucking it and getting Malkin off. This is not a drill at all.

He feels hot all over, and his own dick is waking up and taking an interest. He doesn’t know what he wants, exactly, how much he wants Malkin to touch him or how. It’s not really up to him, anyway, but the best times are when they take an interest in him getting his, too.

Malkin hits him again, then stops, breathing roughly. His hand is tight on his dick now, and his dick is hard and flushed dark. It’s wet at the tip, just a little, and Aaron can _really_ imagine how that’s going to taste on his lips, his tongue, at the back of his throat. He’s salivating thinking about it, drooling like a damn dog. _Jesus_.

“Okay, pretty?” Malkin asks again. Aaron nods and licks his lips, opening his mouth to make it a formal invitation. It’s what he’s here for, and he’s ready, he’s _okay_.

“Good.” Malkin brushes the back of his hand against Aaron’s cheek, rough warm pressure that Aaron wants to lean into. 

Malkin rubs his dick against Aaron’s cheek, then presses the head of his dick to Aaron’s lips. “Open up,” he says, and Aaron obeys, letting Malkin push his way in. He thrusts once and Aaron relaxes his jaw, letting his tongue play against hot, salty-sour skin.

“Suck,” Malkin says. “I’m not do all of the work.”

So Aaron does, hollowing his cheeks and sliding his mouth up and down Malkin’s dick, sucking him tight and slow. Malkin is _thick_ , long and hard and just _big_ , stretching the corners of Aaron’s mouth tight and testing the edges of what’s left of his gag reflex. Malkin thrusts every once in a while, more of a sudden jerk of his hips than an attempt to fuck with Aaron, or at least that’s what it seems like. Aaron gets lost in it a little, which happens sometimes. Getting lost is better than being unhappily aware of every second that passes. Better than being with a captain who yanks his hair and fucks his throat too hard.

Malkin’s hand falls to Aaron’s shoulder and pushes him back firmly, his dick slipping from Aaron’s mouth and leaving him coughing, spit running over his lip. He has about ten seconds of confusion before hot fluid splashes over his left cheek and his mouth. 

Malkin is coming on his face. His face burns in humiliation, jizz running down to his jaw and then dripping to his chest, and Malkin isn’t _done_ , there’s more. Aaron stays frozen, kneeling, not sure what to do or if there’s anything he _can_ do under the rules. He belongs to Malkin right now, for anything he wants.

And then Malkin’s hand is touching his face again, warm and gentle. When Aaron looks up at him, he sees that he’s _smiling_.

“Fuck, you take that good, pretty. Look good on you.”

Aaron no longer has any idea what Malkin is getting off on here, since he doesn’t seem to have the usual gleeful interest in making the rookie cry.

Malkin squats down in front of him and palms Aaron’s dick, pawing at it casually and making a pleased noise in his throat. “Yeah, that get you hard? Good. Want to see it.”

“It’s right there,” Aaron manages to say. “You’re looking at it. You’re touching it.”

Malkin looks at him in puzzlement for a moment, then smiles, giving Aaron’s dick a rough squeeze. “Want to see you jerk off, you know. Watch you.”

“Oh.” Aaron didn’t know that. It hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Malkin lets go of him and gets to his feet again, looming and looking down, still with that smile on his face. “Come on.”

And it’s not like he’s never done this in front of other people, but they were never watching the way Malkin is watching, with real interest and more than a little bit of glee. Aaron drops his hand to his dick, curls it around himself, starts off as slow as if he’s reminding himself how to do it at all. He is hard, though, and sensitive, and when he lets his wrist curve so the heel of his hand can slide against his balls he settles into his rhythm pretty fast.

Malkin makes little sounds of approval while he watches, and that… that just hits Aaron, for some reason, goes through his bones and veins like an electric shock. This isn’t like other loss nights. It’s weirder, and more intense, and his emotions make like a million times less sense than they usually do. It’s like Malkin’s working off some totally different rulebook.

His stomach tightens and his hips jerk and he comes, trying to catch as much in his hand as he can, but some ends up on Malkin’s floor. That probably isn’t good for hardwood. Maybe Malkin will make him scrub it next.

He looks around for something to wipe his hand on, then up at Malkin again. His clothes are just out of reach, and it’s always better to wait for instructions.

Malkin blinks at him slowly, like he’s missing something obvious. “Lick it up, pretty.”

Oh. _Oh_.

He should be used to the burn of humiliation by now, and he kind of is; he’s used to crawling and begging, used to detailing how much he needs some captain’s cock to teach him how to behave. How he can never learn his place in the league without them. How he’s _grateful_.

But he’s never had one of them ask him for this before. It’s not him abasing himself directly; it’s not set in the frame where he’s a rookie and the other is a captain and there are roles to keep. Or at least it doesn’t feel like it.

There’s something that Malkin wants him to do because he’s going to like seeing Aaron do it, not because he wants to see a rookie do it. He’s looking at _Aaron_. He has been this whole time.

Aaron licks his hand clean, clumsily, his face still red-hot, his fingers shaking a little as he works his tongue between them to get everything. His skin is wet and there’s nothing to wipe it on, unless he wants to leave a clammy streak down his thigh, over the present sweat.

“The floor too,” Malkin says patiently. “Pretty, you not listen to me.”

 _Damn_ , Aaron thinks distantly, dizzily, _should’ve figured that out._ To get to the spatter on the floor he has to lean down, pushing his ass up in the air, and he’s hyperaware of that while he licks at the floorboards, tongue cringing away from the thick, cooling fluid and the dull taste of dust and varnish. His muscles are tight, from holding himself in place and anticipation of Malkin touching him again, taking advantage of his position. 

But nothing happens. Malkin just watches him lick the floor clean, smiles his pleased little smile, and finally says, “Okay. That’s good. You want a shower?”

Aaron stares at him for a moment, then looks down at the floor again, clearing his throat and licking his lips before he can speak. “I should probably get back to the hotel pretty soon?”

“Oh! Oh, yes. I call car. You get dressed. Bathroom is through there if you want.”

Aaron takes the out, grabbing his clothes and retreating to the bathroom, where he wipes down his crotch and washes his face and hands before getting dressed and staring at himself in the mirror for a while, until Malkin’s voice comes from outside asking if he’s all right.

“Car is here,” Malkin says when Aaron opens the door. “Take you right to hotel. Already paid for, don’t worry.”

“Thanks.” Aaron clears his throat again. “It was… you know. Nice to meet you.”

“See you again Monday.” Malkin is smiling again. “On your ice. Another good game.”

“We’ll get you this time.” It sounds strained, which makes sense because Aaron _feels_ kind of strained, right now. A bunch of things have flipped around and inside-out. He’s not sure how much makes sense. Maybe it all will once he has a chance to sleep and be around his own guys.

“Maybe, maybe.” Malkin catches him by the shoulder and pulls him in, pressing a fast, rough kiss to his mouth. “Sleep well, pretty. See you soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Richard Siken.


End file.
